


Matters of the Heart

by Palebluedot



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Flying Dutchman, M/M, Post-Canon, Sunsets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-30 08:33:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6416440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Palebluedot/pseuds/Palebluedot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Words left unsaid are spoken, more or less, and time, it would seem, is kind to them at last.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Matters of the Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blanketed_in_stars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blanketed_in_stars/gifts).



> ...who is a dirty, rotten enabler, and an inspiration in all things.

He looks beautiful, and Will tells him so.

He can't tell if James' huff of breath is one of scorn or amusement, but either way, Will knows he wasn't believed. “I look dead,” James insists, even as the sunset watercolors his cheek orange and pink, even as the salt in the breeze and the lapping of the waves beneath the rocking sculpture of creaking wood upon which they stand wrap him up in their arms and becalm his white-knuckled soul.

Will leans against the gunwales next to him, and can't help but laugh, just a little. “I died as well, don't forget – my heart was cut out. I'd like to think it agrees with me.”

“Your heart might be stored unconventionally, but it is still beating. It doesn't count.” His eyes are bright with that old fondness, the sort saved for moments when James thought Will ridiculous, and loved him for it. It swoops through Will's stomach just the way he remembers it, and it very nearly hurts.

“My heart hasn't belonged to me in years, James. You never gave it back.”

There's not much one can say to that, Will suspects, so James' silence doesn't surprise him. Slowly, as though moving underwater, or through a dream, or the afterlife, they both turn their faces to the horizon. The clouds swallow up the sun's farewell salute, fly their colors high – now dark, smoky purple, now deep, glowing orange, now red, and fading fast.

“I did try,” James tells the sunset, confessional, voice low as a whisper and earnest as a plea for mercy.

Will remembers. “I know.”

“I never wanted you to– ”

“But I did.” It would be easier to look at James then if he was lying, but he can't help but mean it. “I do.”

“I never stopped,” James says, an about-face, and now the flush in his face has nothing at all to do with the sky. “Caring for you, I mean.”

Will smiles, and treasures the phantom flutter in his chest. “I love you, too,” he says - promises, really. “I think I always will.” James finally looks at Will then, and Will reaches up to cup his cheek. Muscle memory – and a happy memory indeed. James closes his eyes, and Will wishes he hadn't, he's missed them too much.

James' pale skin is cool beneath Will's cold hand, and it's different from all those years ago, when they warmed each other with their caresses, the hot blood beneath their skins, but if everything stayed the same, they'd doom themselves to repeat mistakes. Besides, Will realizes as James rests his forehead against his own, breathes his air, drowns him in memories, all they've really lost is time. Time, which loses all meaning in the shadow of eternity, on an ocean without walls or limits or rules that never mattered much anyway, in the gentle touch of James' hands in his hair, his lips brushing over his own and staying there, their sea-roughened fingers and unchanged hearts entwined.


End file.
